We stopped to have dinner in Austin, and then began the long trek back home on The Loneliest Road in America. At dusk we drove cautiously; signs along the road, usually shotgun punctured, pictured a longhorn steer with the warning “Open Range.” It soon became obvious that cows cannot read, as we had to swerve suddenly to avoid a bloody bovine and a crumpled car in the middle of the road.

The setting sun spotlighted the pinnacles of the mountains to our south, each peak growing increasingly red, the snow a creamy pink confection on top. Drag in the image to see the length of this mountain range.